Perhaps
by kajamiku
Summary: Bloodplus oneshot. Saya considers the mystery her life has become, and the man who came along with it. Characters: Saya, Haji.


**Title:** Perhaps

**Author: **kajamiku

**Fandom:** Blood Plus

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Blood Plus, Saya or Haji

**Characters:** Saya, Haji

**Summary:** One-shot. Written after I watched only the first lot of episodes. I'm still trying to get up to date, so if it's OC or doesn't follow the story line etc. I apologise.

Saya considers the mystery her life has become, and the man who came along with it.

* * *

**Perhaps**

You follow me wherever I go.

You walk not two steps behind me, your eyes pinned to my back.

Perhaps you don't think I can feel your gaze. Perhaps you want me to know you're watching. Do you think it comforts me?

Clouds billow in the distance, dark and churning. They move slowly, spreading out across the sky like spilled ink.

I can feel the coming storm as much as you. I can see the way your eyes are drawn away for a moment, searching the fathomless black above.

I stop my slow pace, come to a halt to look up at you.

Despite your attention being elsewhere, you sense my cease in movement and manage to keep that careful two steps between us.

I think you must practice that.

You look almost curious at my behaviour. You don't speak. But then, I don't think I really expected you to anyway.

And the silence changes, it's almost as if you speak aloud, even though your mouth doesn't move, _what is it? _This is what you seem to ask me without words. Have I spent too long enveloped in your silence? A wayward sailor on a lonely sea? Or is it that we have some bond between us, a spiritual link of some kind?

I like to think it is the latter.

You stand impassive, a stone and marble god unperturbed and accepting. Your eyes rest on me, somehow managing to be both concerned and apathetic. The two emotions seem indivisible, one moment revealing the former, the next the latter, a shifting of expressions that at the same time could be said to be unnoticeable.

Your dark hair frames your face, no longer damp from the earlier rain, but at a guess I would say the soft black stuff might still smell of it. To be honest, I would like to check.

I'd like to draw down your head, lace my hands into what I know would be soft, winding the jet strands about my fingers. I'd like to press my face into the hair, inhale and memorise the scent that rose…

…but these thoughts are gone quickly.

It's like cutting a statue to draw blood just thinking about it.

I don't think I can help it. You're always there for me to watch. It's you I can't figure out, you that seems to nudge aside my other thoughts at times of peace like this.

A mystery to me.

But then many things are, and until I **remember** they will remain that way. God knows, _you_ won't answer my questions. The questions that burn, that brush against my mind and cry out for me to understand. To enjoy their answers, which are tauntingly held just beyond my reach.

A foolish thing, they tell me, that you don't know all you once did and remain in uncomfortable ignorance.

You are most prominent in my mind now. Other things crowd at the doors of my consciousness, clamour for attention, crave it, but I push them aside for you. The Dark Knight who watches my back and remains lurking in my shadow.

You still don't speak. You merely watch me, waiting for my journey to continue, its progress stopped for reasons unknown to you. Or maybe you do know.

Maybe you notice how I watch you too.

Haji. The living enigma.

But then, things that are shrouded in shadow, as you are, can be more beautiful. More attractive to an imagination long bereft of anything light. That clings to things as elusive as sand in grasping hands.

Perhaps it is better that things remain unexplained. That you remain in the darkness and watch me. That you remain there for me to watch. Perhaps I would be happier not knowing, remaining in my blessed ignorance, and enjoying what little solace and attractive lingering ideas I can dig from the shadows.

Perhaps.

And perhaps my violated mind will forgive me through its pain in the absence of anything real and blessed.

Perhaps my mind will endure, will sing and laugh like I would like to do, even shaded as I am from things that might make me so. Even as comforting as my mental solace can be, it may be that I am beyond seeing the real any more.

Reality has faded in the embracing arms of the dark.

But perhaps I might escape one day, and learn to sing and laugh. To make those two steps and sink my fingers into your hair, release it from its chains.

Perhaps.


End file.
